Happy Father's Day!

Bernard Jones (9), Plymouth Belvedere (10)

Bowie, Maryland, Spring 1977

When I was twelve, just having joined the Boy Scouts of America, I began working in earnest on my first merit badge, Photography.

My father very graciously let me drag him away from his yard work, to be my guinea pig for my "improper technique" shot of posing him directly in front of a tree, so that the trunk appears to be growing out from the top of his head.   The next exposure is of his 1968 Plymouth Belvedere, my favorite car he ever owned, parked on the street in front of our house.

Happy Father's Day, Dad, and thanks for putting up with me all those years! 

Kitties

Tommy and sister Nernie, Bowie, Maryland, 1974

The essence of every photograph, if it is to appeal to the emotions, is that it is a snapshot. Here is a snapshot I took when I was nine, of my Maine Coon cat, Tommy, and his grey-haired sister, Nernie.  I was surprised at how patient they were with me.  Posed though it is (and nicely so), it remains a snapshot.  Thus, it is not "real" nor "art."

When people with cameras decide to get "serious" about the photography craft, they are imb(r)ued with the sotto voce instruction that they must undo everything they have hitherto learned and practiced about photography.  "Snapshot" thus becomes the dirtiest of all sobriquets, and the newly-minted "fine arts" photographer instead shifts all his focus toward making "clever" images that are fraught with "irony."  "Irony" is code language for "I am more hip and sophisticated than thou."

One positive side-effect of the digital photography craze is the reemergence of the snapshot, that impromptu photograph taken and enjoyed for its own sake.

So, enjoy!